Whitewater Trail Magic!

I awoke to the sounds of the I-10 and the screeching brakes of the Burlington Northern Santa Fe on it's way to St Louis from somewhere beyond San Diego. I can only assume it was using it's brakes to rouse we hikers for there is nothing but desert and uninterrupted track for many a mile. We had a lofty climb in front of us, eventually to 9000 feet on the way to Big Bear. The wind was howling but I hardly noticed because the howl had been a constant since I arrived here the afternoon prior. I knew I was headed toward the wind farm up the hill and then to some river beyond that but I had no idea what was actually in store for me.

I climbed quickly the stiff and windblown flora and passed the defunct carcass of the Pink Motel, which was for a short while a hiker hostel and junkyard. The corroded corpses of cars and what looked like a former Hostess delivery truck stood out from the various flotsam of you-name-it and what-did-we-used-to-call-its. There was a hiker register there on a lonely post beside the trail and I stopped with a few other hikers to sign it, like Seahorse, Chili-dog and Bubbles, Das Boots was ahead and I ran into him at the wind farm office which was closed. The wind was dangerously close to blowing my sun helmet off and into the sky so I took an extra shoelace and lashed it to my pack strap. It saved the day on several occasions. The wind was relentless and I peeled a sour apple blowpop, wrapper fluttering violently, while I tried not to let it litter the hills and destroy my hiker karma.

After a goodish climb and the regular meander, I descended into a canyon where the wind was not so severe. When the winds blow strong, the perspiration is evaporated and my chafing is cured; however, in lesser winds, the rubbing and stinging sets in. I walked past a few civilians, out for the day with their rottweiler and doberman and they were surprised to hear about the enormity of the PCT. Shortly after that I saw a note, a glorious not in a ziplock bag laying in the center of the trail.

"Trail Magic Ahead at the Trout Farm.
Hamburgers, hot dogs, veggie burgers, sodas
Buck-30"

There was a junction and a nice, new sign that said Whitewater Preserve 0.5 mi and under that it said, "Hiker's Welcome"

There would be more trail magic today! I didn't know how much though...

I hiked the half mile in to the preserve and there were a few others already there at a wading pool that you could do some stealth rinsing in. Ninja, Drop&Roll, K-Bomb, etc. they directed me to the pavilion where Buck-30 (a triple crowner) was grillin up burgers and other delectables and he had a book about he CDT. A triple crowner is someone who has hiked all three of the long trails in the US: The Appalachian Trail (AT), The Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) which goes up the middle and is the most remote of the three. Buck 30 lives in San Diego and decided to come up and do trail magic for a few days and he is the man! I'm starting to think about the CDT now... Ahh shoot. get back on the PCT!

There were a lot of day hikers and casual campers with lots of kids there and trout pools with HUGE trout in them. They were so docile I put my hand in there and they would actually rub up against you.

After that, just about a million people showed up at the magnificent preserve with our Ranger Jose who pulled out a scope and let us check out bighorn sheep on the hillside. Rain was looming and we still had a big climb ahead of us...

Just as we depleted Buck-30's trail magic, another trail angel dropped in with pesto tortellini, baked chicken, watermelon for days and pies of various flavors. It seems we are not going out to hike any more today... The moon was nearly full and the wind had the smell of rain on it...

David AKA “Mister F. Gentle Spirit”
Website
http://www.davidpatrone.com/PCT
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